


jailbait

by earpcin



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, F/F, Sibling Incest, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 15:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earpcin/pseuds/earpcin
Summary: "So, I thought you said you quit?" Waverly lifts the cigarette to her lips in the way they do in movies. She breathes in, and lets the smoke hang around in her mouth, but doesn't let it into her lungs. She blows it out before it has any effect on her.Wynonna smiles, teeth glinting in the multicoloured lights. Her molars are green, her canines are orange.Her lips are blue.orWaverly's prom night doesn't go exactly as planned.





	jailbait

Waverly looks in the mirror and knows she looks _good_. It’s not even egotistical, at this point, just fact. Just pride in her own work. She put her hair up painstakingly, not a single strand out of place, and did and redid her make up until her skin under the foundation was red from the water and the rubbing.

Her dress wasn't cheap, either, but wasn't the most expensive one there: not that you could tell, with the extensive alternations Waverly and Gus had both made to it. She tried it on beforehand, of course, many times, but now that it's the night of it feels different. She spins in the mirror and watches the cloth react. It’s too pretty to be in this room. The background: her posters on the wall, the paper, spoils it.

It fits her, perfectly, in a way that’s uncomfortable to see on a sixteen-year-old, and even more uncomfortable to comment on.

She's prepared for it to be a magical night: everyone's already told her that it would be, and with her being all but dead set to claim Prom Queen, they really meant it.

When she heads down the stairs, it's with a hand on the railing and her mind on her heels. In her head, she imagines Champ already waiting at the bottom, but he's running late.

Waverly picks up her heels as she passes by the door, careful as she bends. Unlike her dress, her heels are less… refined. She’s comfortable in the rest of her outfit being distracting enough, though. She doesn’t worry.

Waverly hears Gus and Curtis stop talking the second she leaves her room. They can hear her coming closer, the floor creaking just so. Gus, she’s sure it’s Gus form how light the movement sounds, rises. Waverly only has a second to brace herself before the praises start.

“Oh, Waverly!” Gus is halfway up the stairs before Waverly even gets off the first step. So much for the graceful descent she’d planned. Gus puts and arm around her and Waverly had to fight against the annoyance. Gus means well but it’s just a lot, and she’s thinking about how tightly and precisely her hair is put up. She doesn’t want to be like this: Waverly Earp is many things, but she isn’t ‘precious’ like that.

Gus catches on and stops with her hands just hovering, stopping short of causing any damage. Gus’ smile reaches her eyes, and Waverly can tell that she’s really, truly, _excited._ Maybe even more excited than Waverly herself. Waverly thinks that’s strange, on the surface, that Gus with her farm and her truck and her horses and her practical, comfortable clothing would be as involved in the whole prom process as Waverly is. But, stranger things.

“I’ll go get the camera,” Gus flutters her hands and heads down the stairs.

“Wait, aren’t we gonna wait for-“Waverly stops herself short, before Gus actually hears her. She thinks about it for a moment and comes to the surprisingly easy conclusion that she wants at least a few photos without Champ in them. She's told him very clearly what she'd be wearing, what he should wear to watch, but she's sure he'd only heard half of it and what he had heard, he'd probably misunderstand. She can only hope he's gone for something simple, at least. Traditional. Boring is better than a bolo tie.

No, let her have a moment to shine by herself. Waverly isn't entirely blind to the optics: Champ is.... Champ. And as much as she tells herself about how he's good at his core, she thinks about only taking pictures with him and she swears she can already taste the regret.

Gus is ready, camera in hand, by the time Waverly reaches the bottom of the stairs.

"Quickly, put your shoes on." Gus motions at them and Waverly nods. She tries to lift on leg up before realising the dress is way too restrictive, and walks over the the couch. She bends down and slips one on, adjusting the heel until it's as comfortable as it can be. Gus is talking to Curtis in the kitchen, who is decidedly less excited than the women in the house.

Waverly has her head ducked down and despite knowing her hair is secure, keeps bringing a hand up to fiddle with the pins, feeling sure that something was going to fall out of place. She sticks her tongue out of her mouth with the focus, and for a moment panics that she's ruined her lipstick.

"Gus, can you bring me a mir-" It's only when she starts to speak that she realises it's gone quiet in the kitchen. She can still see Curtis and Gus are there, casting long shadows over the couch in the light from the fluorescent bulb that's only a couple of weeks short from death.

"What's..." and then, she sees the third shadow. Waverly's first reaction is fear, thinking about the file box tucked under her bed, the long nights she'd spend reading herself into a cold terror. If something were to happen, it seems fitting with her family’s luck that it'd happen on fucking prom night. Waverly's hand goes to her hip even though she's never carried a gun. Hates them, in fact, but it's a reflex. Something absorbed from Hollywood. She hears steps coming from the entry way in the house and seconds later feels the delayed chill that always seeps into the house when the front door opens, no matter how quickly you close it again.

The footsteps are kind of light. Waverly thinks it must be a woman, or a small man. She's about to turn around, unsure if she's about to be met with a gun to the face or a punch or what. Gus and Curtis' prolonged, presumably stunned, silence isn't doing anything to help the feeling.

And _then._

"Wynonna?" Gus is halfway between anger and confusion, and Curtis doesn't speak but Waverly is sure he must be feeling the same way. That gets her over her hesitation, fast. Her head snaps around and jostles the perfect bun with the force of the movement.

Her eyes almost miss Wynonna the first time. She's standing so still, and Waverly is so thrown off balance, she almost takes her for a piece of furniture. On the second scan, she takes in more. It's Wynonna, alright, and Waverly thinks it cliché to say she doesn't look like herself anymore but it's just _true._

Her clothes are the first thing that hits her. Well, not the first. Maybe the most visible. The most surface area. Wynonna's wearing all black now, and honestly Waverly's surprised it took her that long. She's sure if it was up to Wynonna she would've made the change years ago, but when she was in foster care and in and out of the system, she'd just had to wear whatever she could. Beggars can't be choosers. Waverly isn't an expert, but she thinks even from there that Wynonna's jacket looks like real leather. Expensive, too, and a nice cut. It looks good, even if it's not something she'd go for herself and even with her recent thoughts about going vegan. She can't tell if the shirt under that is long sleeved or a t-shirt because of the jacket, but it dips into a deep v and between that, a necklace. Another thing Waverly doesn't recognise.

Her hair is longer and her body is.. fuller, too. Not like she's put on weight, just like she's filled out. Waverly thinks it's mostly muscle, but she's have to feel to know...

Her eyes dip down to where Wynonna's heather shirt is tightest, how it clings to her skin in parts. Waverly realises that's cause it's wet, just in patches, and listens until she heard the snow/hail/rain from outside. She sees thin smatterings of the crystals on the shoulders of Wynonna's jacket, caught in her hair. When Wynonna breathes, her breathe looks shaky, and it could just as easily be the cold as the nerves.

"Hey," Wynonna waves, with her arm an uncomfortable distance from her chest, the movement awkward and stunted. "Gus, Curtis," Wynonna nods to them one by one, pauses. She turns to Waverly with her full body, even her boots squeak on the linoleum as she adjusts her feet. With Wynonna looking straight at her, Waverly starts to run through her checklist again. Hair shoes dress makeup perfume. She knows she's fine, she knows. She checked in the mirror in her room not more than two minutes ago, but she keeps going back to it, like wondering if she left the oven on.

"Waverly." Wynonna says, "You look..." Wynonna trails off, makes a vague gesture. Waverly understands. She looks good. It's awkward to comment on.

"We didn't know you'd be here," Gus says, crossing her arms. She narrows her eyes in something like suspicion, but not quite as cynical. Wynonna shrugs.

"I've been back in town for a little while," Wynonna says. She crosses her arms too, mimicking Gus, and Waverly wonders if it's subconscious or not. "And I remembered that the prom is on. Thought I might as well see my little sister before I," Wynonna clicks her tongue, and gestures with her thumb toward the door, "Ya know, hit the road again."

It doesn't escape Waverly that Wynonna leaves out where she's been, and where she's going. Waverly has a couple of guesses.

"Well," Gus look from Wynonna to Curtis, back to Wynonna. Not at Waverly. She narrows her eyes a bit more before something in her breaks. Or softens, rather, bends. It smooths out her face and she looks younger the second she drops her arms. "You could've called us."

Wynonna scratches at an invisible spot on her shirt, one of the wet ones. It comes away from the skin but the second she lets go it falls back, right into the same place.

"Yeah...." Wynonna draws the word out. "Sorry."

Waverly had known Wynonna was in town as much as anyone had. She has Wynonna’s number, technically, but Wynonna doesn’t ever answer so what does that count for. For all Waverly knows, it might be deactivated.

She'd heard it first from Chrissy, but from half a dozen people since then, and had even managed to catch Wynonna out of the corner of her eye a couple of times. She's sure it was her: the shape stood still, and only moved when Waverly looked. If Waverly didn't know better, she'd lay Wynonna was lingering around her. Maybe she doesn't know better.

Wynonna fishes out her phone and holds it up to demonstrate. She pushes the power button once, twice, thrice.

There's no reaction on the screen, not even the symbol that says it needs to get charged.

"Left it outside for, like, _five_ minutes while I got a drink. In that time apparently, a fucking-" Wynonna flinches at her own word. Gus doesn't seem to react, and Curtis, if he cares, doesn't say anything. Wynonna clears her throat anyway, "apparently a blizzard started. Phone's fryed." For the extra dramatic gesture, Wynonna tosses her phone in the direction of the couch. She had good aim; Waverly doesn't even need to dodge, and it lands an inch clear of her leg.

"So... sorry. About the no notice." Wynonna is sorry about a whole lot more than that, but that's all she'll say just then. Neither Gus nor Curtis speak, and Wynonna hates it, that she's so tough, so not-give-a-fuck, so comfortable with confrontation everywhere else in the world but the second she steps through that door she's twelve and terrified again, desperate for approval.

"But since I'm here, anyway... I thought I could drive Waverly over? I mean, it's a snow storm out there, and I saw your treads on the way in... they're looking a bit worse for wear. Besides, it'll give you two the night in..." Wynonna ends it like a question, but her hands are already going for the car keys in her pocket.

Gus looks to Waverly for an answer. Waverly hasn't opened her mouth since Wynonna stepped through the door, and Gus noticed. She wants everything to be perfect, tonight. They both do. They'd planned it out, to make sure it was. They hadn't planned for this.

"I'm...not...."

Waverly cuts in, speaking for the first time since Wynonna came in. Wynonna hasn't heard her voice in more than a year, not even over the phone.

"Yeah, that's fine. It'll be fun. Wynonna can drive us."

The last word catches on Wynonna's ear.

"Us?"

Just on cue, there's the sound of a familiar truck coming to a stop.

In synchronicity, everyone in the room stops to listen.

The footsteps she hears are clumsy, and when Waverly hears a muffled 'fuck' that turns into a 'frick' as he realises what company he's in, Waverly knows that Champ is finally here. He moves quickly, bulldozing into the room before taking the temperature, obtuse as always.

"Waverly?" He stops to call up the stairs first.

"In here," Waverly supplies, and he quickly flicks his head toward her. Their eyes align through the archway, and a smile breaks across his face.

He's actually speechless for a bit, and Waverly can't deny that it feels good. This is exactly the kind of reaction he'd wanted.

"Waverly, you look..." his mouth hangs open for a second and chews the air. She's sure everything that comes to him mind first is not at all appropriate to say in front of present company. At least he has the sense to censor himself. "You look beautiful." He settles on.

"Thank you, Champ," Waverly accepts the compliment with a small smile and turns her head down just so. Gus raised her to be modest, if nothing else.

Champ's wearing a plain black suit. It seems to be cut well for him, but she supposes all suits are cut for men for him. He looks good, too, Waverly has to give him that. At least good enough to make her look better. Waverly rises from the couch as Champ steps into the room, still looking right at her. He hasn't even notices Wynonna there yet. Champ reaches into his pocket and a second later brings out a box.

He pulls out a simple white corsage, and Waverly holds out her wrist for it. His hands are unsteady as he ties it around her wrist, but Waverly stays patient. She flicks her eyes over to Wynonna when he almost drops it, and catches her mid eye-roll. Waverly glares at her. Champ gives it a tiny tug once it's on to make sure it's secure and smiles at her in the cheesy country boy way.

"You look really handsome," Waverly drops her hand and senses Wynonna shifting. She makes herself known.

"Hey, Champ," Wynonna steps forward and catches all of Champ's attention in a split second. He turns away from Waverly feet and all, and his eyes drop down then up then back down again.

"Wynonna," there's the shock. Champ doesn't know the whole story, but he knows enough to know that this is strange, that Waverly hadn't been expecting to see her sister again for at least another six months.

His look goes from shocked to something else and Waverly swears for a second, she sees him bite his lip. Waverly's hand itches with the need to hit him. She knows what he's thinking; How different Wynonna looks, how good. The exact things she'd thought. But it's different if it's him, Waverly thinks. It's different if it's her.

Champ steps deeper into the room and only when he turns into better light does Waverly notice that the weather outside had the same effect on him. His shirt is almost see through in parts, but on him, it just makes Waverly annoyed. Waverly chews at the bottom corner of her lip, trying to figure out if his jacket, buttoned up, would cover up the issue.

She reaches out a hand for one of his lapels, pulls it closer and crosses it over the other one. Waverly nods. It'll do. She notices his empty pocket and remembers the matching boutonnière she’d gotten for him, still up in her room.

Gus is holding her camera out, the strap around her neck, waiting. Waverly holds a finger out. "I'll just be a minute, sorry, I..." she points upstairs and heads for the entry way. Her heels make a sharp sound as she walks, and at the bottom of the stairs she starts to resent them. It's too much hassle to take them all the way off and put them back on again, she Waverly just holds onto the railing for support and starts going up.

There's no voices from the kitchen as she ascends. Waverly almost feels guilty for getting out of dodge so quickly; she's the only thing connecting everyone in that room together, and with her removed it's just awkward. She's glad she isn't in the room to feel it. Waverly opens her door and immediately spots the box on her dresser, right where she'd left it. She goes to pocket it before realising she doesn't have pockets, and after a second of cursing the inequality of it all, she turns to go.

Wynonna is in her way. Leaning against the door frame, just outside of the border of her room.

Waverly jumps back, brings a hand to her chest.

"Jesus, Wynonna, I didn't hear you. Almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry," Wynonna holds up both hands in a 'don't shoot' manoeuvre, crossing the threshold into Waverly's room. "Sneak out of houses every night for a couple of years and you develop a certain level of stealth. Soemtimes I forget to turn it off."

"Yeah, no shit."

Wynonna is already past her, walking toward Waverly's bed.

She stops in front of Waverly's dresser, picks something up off it. Waverly can't tell what with the way Wynonna's body is angled.

Waverly taps the box in her hand.

"Can I... help you?" she asks, shifting her weight while Wynonna continues her exploration of her room. Wynonna eventually reaches the bed and plops down ungracefully, the teddy - Waverly can see what it is, now - that she picked up from Waverly's dresser held in both her hands. The springs in the mattress creak from the movement. Wynonna pulls one legs over the other while she sits, and Waverly twitches, thinking about her boots getting the sheets dirty.

"So you're really going with Champ, huh? I'm kinda surprised you're still with him, to be honest."

Waverly circles closer to Wynonna, who doesn't seem to be making any move toward leaving the room soon.

"Yeah. Two years. Almost three." Waverly says it the way the says it to everyone who asks, which is...well, everyone, as soon as she tells them she had a boyfriend. The normal reaction is to aww, sometimes surprise that two high schoolers could keep it together for that long.

It's certainly not scoffing and throwing your head down like Wynonna does.

“Really?” she asks, “God, you sure have some kind of patience.”

"He's not that bad."

Wynonna sets the teddy down on Waverly's bed with a kind of gentleness Waverly didn't know she had. Waverly has an image of her tucking it into her bed, next. Wynonna finally rises and only when she walks past her again down Waverly realise the vague smell she'd noticed was smoke, coming off of Wynonna. She glares at the spot on her bed, creased from where she'd set. If she has to deal with nicotine smell for the next week, she's gonna kill Wynonna herself.

"You smoking again? Thought you quit."

Waverly follows her out of the room and pulls the door shut behind her.

"Nothing gets past you."

Waverly rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. Just... does your truck stink? Cause if it does, then you're taking Gus'. Or Curtis'. I'm not gonna show up to prom smelling like stale tobacco.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't smoke in my own car. I'd never get it out."

Something shatters downstairs and they exchange a look before quickly going downstairs. Wynonna, unhindered by heels or tight seams, takes the lead. She's down the stairs before Waverly's even comfortably on the landing.

"What’s...?" Waverly calls down as she starts her descent. Wynonna pokes her head back into view a second later.

"Champ dropped something." Wynonna almost sneers as she says it, "Bull in a china shop." She clicks her tongue, once, loud. Waverly hurries down and finds a scene with Champ on his knees, picking up little bits of … something.

"Champ, you suit!" Waverly calls. Champ jolts up from his place under the kitchen table, and bumps his head on the bottom of it. Curtis makes a sympathetic 'ouch' as Champ withdraws, rubbing at the sore back of his skull. Waverly can almost hear the shattering all over again as he stretches to his full height, pained expression on his face.

To her immense relief, the suit seems mostly unharmed. Champ, too, she realises as an afterthought.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," Champ brings his hand down but Waverly can tell from the odd angle he's holding himself that he's not entirely pain free, not yet, "Yeah, sorry, just... the plate."

Champ opens his hand and gestures down at the shattered bits of ceramic on the linoleum. Gus is already opening the cupboard, looking for something to clean it up with.

"We better get out of her," Wynonna taps the place where a watch would be on her wrist, except it's empty, "Before Champ decimates the rest of the crockery. what time's this shindig start, anyway?"

"We should be there at seven." Waverly gets to the bottom line. She has a whole schedule, and it started with them leaving a minute ago, "We should go now. Champ."

He responds to his name like a particularly well trained retriever, shaking off the pain in a second and walking directly in front of Waverly. Waverly pries open the little box and removes the small rose bud from it. He knows not to move as she puts it in his pocket and secures it, finally not having to lean up so much thanks to the heels. That's one advantage, Waverly thinks.

She pulls his jacket tighter around him, dusts imaginary dirt over the shoulder. Champ smirks when she brushes over one of his pecs, and for all that she’s been annoyed with him lately, Waverly has to admit that he’d cleaned up _well._

Wynonna clears her throat.

“Come on,” she says, “Before the snow really hits.”

///

The drive over is, surprisingly, decent. They're quiet for most of the ride, letting the radio fill the silence. Champ talks now and then, but only to Waverly, and only about the plans for the afterparty. Waverly's sure he doesn't want to go to the prom at all, really, but is willing to endure the photos and the waiting in lines and the carefully chaperoned socialising if it means getting wasted with all his buddies afterward.

Waverly already knows about the flask he has hidden on him - how could she forget when he brings it up every three minutes.

Wynonna keeps shooting her looks through the mirror, which she tilted so only Waverly’s side of the back seat can see it, but Waverly can’t tell what the looks are supposed to mean. She keeps making eye contact with her, the mirror as the middleman, and Waverly’s about to ask her to just ask whatever she wants to ask when a car comes out of fucking nowhere and Wynonna almost swerves out of her lane to avoid it.

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

Champ grabs onto the back of the seat in front of him and Waverly grabs onto Champ. Wynonna grips the steering wheel solidly in both hands, where one had been fiddling with the radio, trying to get it to work despite the interference form the weather reducing it to static.

“Sorry.” Wynonna keeps her eyes on the road now, dead ahead, “Black ice. It’s brutal.”

They make it the rest of the way without event. Waverly gets out for her picture, poses on Champ’s arm, smiling. Her eyes find Wynonna in the car, just the shape of her, not the details. She’s obscured by the tinted windows but Waverly can tell with absolutely certainty that she’s looking back.  

“Look over here,” the photographer calls, and Waverly snaps her head back in the right direction. She’s still blurry when the flash hits, and it leaves a burn in her eyes as they walk inside.

///

"Waverly Earp!"

Waverly's legs are already carrying her forward before he finishes the announcement. The crowd parts for her, at least a meter on each side, and Waverly feels hands of her arms, her smiling friends, reaching out to touch her as she passes them.

She'd practiced the walk an almost embarrassing number of times. When she gets to the stairs up the stage, she discreetly wraps the fabric around her fingers at her sides, hikes it up just enough that it won’t trip her up. She's up, flawless, smile never faltering. The principal has his hand held out for her, and behind him is the real prize: the crown. Waverly lets him shake her hand and smiles through whatever he says to her next, she can’t really hear through the noise the crowd. When he lets her hand go, she gives half a bow and continues on to the spot on the stage, already lit up by the spotlight. She turns to face the crowd, hands locked together in front of her, corsage catching the light and reflecting it back from the thing metal clasp holding the flower in place.

Waverly knows to stay still as she's coronated. She can hardly feel the tiara with how sprayed and tight her hair is.

Champ becomes the King a minute later, and is on stage next to her. They get the first dance, his hand on her back, her eyes looking over his shoulder to the open gym door, seeing a vision of a certain silhouette in the fluorescent light.

///

Waverly doesn't even touch her food. She hardly touches her water, either, but that only becomes a problem when she gets to the after party. She's running on fumes, the high from the win that she knew was coming anyway, and then the bottom-shelf beer hits her all at once.

She feels fine. She has fun. For the longest time, she enjoys herself, and she enjoys herself more and more and more until the exact second she doesn't. Waverly images it’s like riding the waves out at the beach, going in deeper and deeper for the biggest ones until the second the swell breaks, and suddenly the water is still and you are alone.

Chrissy eyes her. She takes Waverly's open can from her hand and only then does Waverly realises how weak her grip was, how easy it was for Chrissy to take it away.

"You okay, Wave?" Chrissy leans in close to her. In the noise of the party, it's a second of silence, of privacy.

"Bathroom." Waverly mutters.

Chrissy nods and takes her hand and works her way through the house, sliding between people and counters and tables until they're in the hallway. Waverly didn't watch the road as they were driving over, and no one's told her whose house they're even at, but Chrissy seems to know the floor plan better than her.

By some miracle, the bathroom is unoccupied, and Chrissy opens the door and ushers Waverly in. As soon as it closes, she feels more sober. The music is distorted through the walls and the light is different, she can actually see. Waverly looks at herself in the mirror and swears her edges seem blurry.

“You good, babe?” Chrissy asks, “Are you gonna throw up.”

Waverly stops to sense her body. She considers it. Shakes her head.

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Wanna get back out there?” Chrissy points with her thumb in the direction of the party. Waverly shakes her head.

“I’ll just be a second. You go have fun.”

Chrissy gives Waverly a look of concern for a second and runs a hand down her arm, before she trails it off and leaves her alone in the room. Waverly leans closer into the mirror to examine herself: her make is already started to get messed up. It’d be even worse if she hadn’t taken the care to seal it.

Waverly grips the edge of the counter. A second later, she jumps when she hears the door open, no knocking, and someone come stumbling in. She only realises its Champ when she recognises what he’s wearing.

“Oh, hey,” that’s all he needs to say for Waverly to know he’s way drunker than she is. Despite her state, Waverly knows it her time to be the responsible one, now, “Babe, wassup?”

“Hey, Champ,” Waverly’s voice gives up half way through and it comes out exasperated. Champ seems to miss her tone entirely, because he throws himself deeper into the room without stopping to take the temperature. Waverly feels his big arms wrap around her – normally, she doesn’t mind. There’s a certain comfort to him being strong, something primitive about it. It makes her feel strong, too, when they present as a unit. Something like having a well-trained Doberman. Now, it’s too much, and he pulls her back and into his chest. Waverly stumbles and he doesn’t do much to catch her.

He wraps her up and his laugh sounds like he’s crying. It’s too airy, too harsh. He turns Waverly around and she’s acutely aware of how small the bathroom is, how she isn’t sure they’d be able to stand shoulder to shoulder.

“Champ,” her tone is laced with disinterest but she gives him a soft smile anyway, he tends to respond better when she’s being nice, “Come on, Champ, I gotta go…”

The next second his mouth is on her. Open, sloppy, and she tries to pull back but he’s holding her. She pushes on his shoulder to try and get him off but he’s just so much bigger than her, and a show of force won’t work. When he breaks for air, she slips him: down and out and away from his arms, ducking under him and reversing their positions so she’s between him and the door.

He stands there, stupidly. Waverly reaches for the door knob and wrenches it open with her hand behind her back. She steps back and through the threshold, and closes the door again on the image of Champ reaching out for her, his hand open and hair flopping over the good side of his face.

Waverly doesn’t wait for him to follow.

She’s slipping through the party, brushing past people she shares one or two classes with. They don’t even seem to notice her and for once, Waverly is grateful for how small she is, how light on her feet. Even with the alcohol there’s a certain level of grace she can’t shake.

Waverly follows the light until she gets to the living room, and then through to the entry way. She finds her bag where she left it, right next to Chrissy’s under a table, and fishes it out. She unzips the pocket and reaches inside. For a second, she panics when she can’t find her phone. Then she remembers moving it, making a note to herself to remember and almost forgetting. She finds it in the bigger pocket and – by the grace of god – still has battery. Waverly holds it close to her phone to try and make the letters clearer, but it doesn’t do much to help. The sound is so loud she swears it’s messing with her vision.

She just needs some fresh air.

Waverly slings her bag over her shoulder and opens the main door. Before she leaves, she sees Champ again, making out with Chrissy against the wall. She thinks someone calls her name as she leaves but she isn’t sure, and the next second she’s outside.

She’s alone, more or less. Someone’s leaning against the wall with a cigarette and two other someone’s are making out on one of the deck chairs, but she doesn’t think they’ll pay her much mind.

The air outside is even colder than she'd left it. It hits her right in her sternum, and forces a breath out of her like some creature is trying to leech out her air.

Her head is still spinning, and when she stands still and closes her eyes it just gets worse. Waverly sways on the spot, shifting her weight from foot to foot, trying to keep every circulating because she feels like if it starts to settle in, it would kill her.

Waverly stares at her phone screen. There’s only one number she can call.

She picks up on the third ring.

“Can you come get me?”

Wynonna sighs on the other end of the line, but when she speaks she sounds wide awake, like she’d been waiting for this. It’s just past three am and Waverly swears she can hear heavy footsteps in the background on Wynonna’s end, but she doesn’t want to know any more about whatever Wynonna is up to.

“Send me the address.”

Waverly manages to send the message with the help of autocorrect. Wynonna doesn’t respond, and Waverly just has the take the ‘read’ as confirmation she’s on her way. Waverly tries to slide her phone away and realises she doesn’t have any pockets, so she holds it in her hand. It’s the warmest thing about her, warmer than the air, warmer than any point on her skin and Waverly wants to hold it against her chest just for that feeling.

Waverly lowers herself to the porch when minutes pass and she realises she has no way of knowing how far away Wynonna is, if she’ll even come to get her anyway. She likes to think Wynonna wouldn’t leave her there, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Wynonna is not known for her reliability.

Her dress is so bad for this weather. Her shoulders are open the hairs on her arms are raised. Waverly feels her nose and fingertips going numb first, and it’s almost enough to drive her back into the party. At least the heat from so many other bodies would help, like penguins huddling for warmth. She’s afraid if she goes back in she won’t be able to get out, though, and she’s passed the point where the smell of alcohol makes her feel sick.

She’s just on the edge of frostbite when she sees a truck pull up. In the driver seat, there’s Wynonna. Not a hair out of place, both hands on the driving wheel. She doesn’t get out, doesn’t open the door for her. Waverly doesn’t mind. It’s chivalry all the same.

///

There’s something about standing inside a convenience store in a prom dress at four am that makes Waverly feel just a little self-conscious. The fact that she’s still half wasted doesn’t help much.

The attendant, for his part, looks vaguely uninterested, like this doesn’t even make the top ten of whatever else he’s seen that night. Or maybe  he’s just tired. Waverly slides the packets of chips onto the counter , and gives him the money a second later. The change is only around a dollar, so she tells him to keep it as she turns to go and leave the store. The doors slide open when they sense her, and Waverly remembers how cold it is again. Even the alcohol isn’t doing much to help warm her up.

She scans the drivers seat of the car when she’s close enough but finds it empty. Frowning, Waverly extends her search range, until she sees the body leaned against the half wall at the edge of the parking lot. She picks up her dress and walks over. Wynonna’s making some odd motion with her hand.

"Want one?"

Waverly squints, and walks forward, until she can see what Wynonna is holding out in her hand. She recognises the colours and the shapes as Marlboro Reds, a brand she only knows because she'd seen the packets lying around on coffee tables as a child. It's what her Daddy used to smoke, and before Gus quit, what she smoked, too.

Wynonna holds the pack out and jostles it around when Waverly lingers. Waverly's never smoked before, but... what the hell. After all that's happened tonight, one won't kill her.

She reaches into the box and pushes the foil out of the way with her fake nails. She grips one and has to fiddle for a few second to get it loose and out of the box. She holds it in her hand while Wynonna reaches for her lighter, stuffed into her pocket.

It's a real zippo, the ones that Waverly knows cost way more than is at all reasonable. The engraving is of a spade, with some kind of lined pattern inside of it. Wynonna gets a nail between the lid and flicks it up like it's practiced. She flicks the flame on, and Waverly goes to light her cigarette.

"It has to be in your mouth when you light it."

Waverly only realises how intensely she'd been looking at the little flame when Wynonna breaks her out of it.

"Oh," Waverly says, "Oh, I-" and shuts herself up by putting the cigarette in her mouth. Wynonna steps closer to her and lifts the lighter higher. It feels weird between her lips, she's curving them around, so they look thinner than usual.

Waverly wonders if she looks stupid. She takes it out of her mouth for a second.

"Thanks," Waverly says, and puts it back. It comes out a lot heavier than she'd meant it.

Wynonna pulls out one for herself, and stashes the pack back in a pocket hidden inside her jacket.

"You know, you're much too young to be needing a cigarette."

"You're much too old to be encouraging it." Waverly says back.

“Touché.”

Wynonna relights the flame and Waverly leans forward with the cigarette in her mouth. It lights, and Wynonna immediately turns attention to her own, doing just what Waverly had done but several times faster. Waverly watches her, until she realises she’s just had it still in her mouth for too long to be normal and takes a drag. It doesn’t hurt, surprisingly. In fact, Waverly can’t feel much of anything aside from vague heat and dryness in her mouth. She exhales and the wind changes at that very second, blowing some of it into Wynonna’s hair. She wants to apologise, but Wynonna doesn’t even seem to notice.

Wynonna turns her head up when she exhales, and Waverly watches her neck. Wynonna has her eyes closed, and there’s something softer about her face now than back at Gus and Curtis’ house. Waverly wonders if it’s something she’s gained, or something she lost.

All at once, Wynonna straightens her neck and opens her eyes. Waverly quickly averts her eyes, but she’s already been caught staring. Waverly’s eyes land on her heels, and she can see the red lines on her feet from how the straps have moved around during the night.

The silence goes on for just a beat too long, and Waverly’s too afraid of letting Wynonna guide the conversation, so she has to fill it with something.

"So, I thought you said you quit?" Waverly lifts the cigarette to her lips in the way they do in movies. She breathes in, and lets the smoke hang around in her mouth, but doesn't let it into her lungs. She blows it out before it has any effect on her.

Wynonna smiles, teeth glinting in the multicoloured lights. Her molars are green, her canines are orange.

Her lips are blue.

"Yeah, well. I guess I'm just living up to my own reputation."

When Wynonna takes a drag, she makes it look right. Waverly isn't sure what she looked like, but she's sure it didn't look like that. She hates to glamorise smoking, and she'd be the first to try and talk Wynonna out of it, but... different circumstances. In this light, this late in the night... Wynonna just looks _cool._

Wynonna's hands are strong. Practiced. Waverly loves the way they look, had studied how they move when Wynonna lights a cigarette, flicking the zippo closed. Waverly hates the act, and tells Wynonna she needs to quit (normally)… but she admires the aesthetic.

The nicotine hits Wynonna and she has to suppress how she wants to shiver. She watches Waverly.

"You're not doing that right."

"What?"

Wynonna lifts her own cigarette up, and points at Waverly's. Waverly holds it closer to her face.

"How can you tell?"

Wynonna almost laughs, again.

"Because if you were..." Wynonna sing songs at the end. She hooks one arm around the lamp and swings herself around on it, driven by her own momentum. she stops herself with her foot, already deep in Waverly's personal space, "...you'd be coughing up a lung."

Waverly lowers her hand, suddenly embarrassed. Wynonna's eyes trace the way the red-light cuts through the deep blue night, until it hands at Waverly's side, the wind smoking it for her.

"They're heavy, these," Wynonna continues, "And I'm betting you've never smoked in your life - no, don't deny it, I can tell how green you look - you should be feeling like you've got the damn plague. You're probably not inhaling."

"I _am_ inhaling."

"Drawing it into your mouth isn't inhaling, look-" Wynonna lets go of the lamp post. Her hand drops down next to Wavely's, stroking against her knuckles. Waverly holds her hand perfectly still, like trying to avoid a sting from a wasp that flying just too close. Wynonna reaches behind her hand, close to her fingers, and grips the filter. she takes it from Waverly and puts it to her own lips.

"Into your mouth," Wynonna says, taking a drag to demonstrate. There's a momentary pause, and Waverly's watching. She sees every flick of Wynonna's tendons, the little jumping muscle where her neck meets her jaw, as she draws breath in deeper. Wynonna's lips part and her lung warm and she exhales. The smoke catches the light the same way her teeth does, all green and blue and golden, and dissipates. "Then into the lungs."

"Into the mouth, into the lungs."

Wynonna hands the cigarette back, and Waverly takes it.

"Into the mouth, into the lungs." Waverly repeats.

"Jesus, smoking isn't that complicated, Waverly. You don't need a goddamn study guide."

"Dick." Waverly bites back, and driven by spite, the strongest of all human motivators, she draws on the cigarette for long enough that it earns wide eyes from Wynonna.

Waverly follows Wynonna's instructions and Wynonna can tell the exact moment it hits because Waverly almost doubles over. A cough rips out of her throat and if she hadn't given up on the prom mentality an hour ago, she'd be worried the movement would be enough to tear her dress. She almost drops the cigarette on the ground out of reflex. The coughs die down until they're nothing, but her throat still feels raw and dry and hot.

"Why does anyone even _do_ this?"

Waverly's eyes are watering, and if her makeup wasn't waterproof it'd already be getting smudged.

"Yeah, _exactly_."

The nicotine hits Waverly a second later and it makes her head feel funny. She shakes to get through it. Her head, her arms. Wynonna watches the whole thing without putting a hand on her.

"Amateurs," Wynonna says, a playful lilt to her voice. When Waverly rights herself again, finally feeling recovered after half a minute, she's leaning against the lamp post in a way that seems so exaggerated Waverly thinks it might be part of a bit.

"Yeah, whatever," Waverly says back. She knows it's much too late for a smooth recovery, but she fights the impulse to just put the rest of the cigarette out then and there. She doesn’t want to try it again, but she either has to finish it herself or just wait it out.

"You're the one teaching kids how to smoke," Waverly says.

Wynonna shrugs. "Gotta learn sometime. Wouldn't want you looking like an idiot in front of all your friends."

Waverly lets out an ugly snort. Wynonna looks at her just out of the corner of her eye, but doesn't ask what's up. She knows Waverly will speak if she wants to, and wont if she doesn't.

"What friends?" Waverly says, "I think I lost all of them tonight. Even Chrissy."

Waverly counts out five beats of her heart before she speaks again. At least it isn't thundering anymore. That might just be the cigarette.

"Especially Chrissy."

"What about Champ?"

"What about him?"

Wynonna holds up on hand in an approximation of 'sorry I asked'. Wynonna finishes her cigarettes and stomps it out.

"I’m glad you ditched Champ," Wynonna finally says.

"I didn't _ditch_ him," it's almost an impulse to Waverly, now, how often she has to defend Champ. Wynonna raises an eyebrow.

"What? _He_ ditch you?"

Waverly shakes her head no.

"He just..." Waverly makes some vague gesture that comes to mean something like 'I don't want to talk about it'.

Waverly’s cigarette is almost all the way finished too, and she can start to feel the heat reaching her fingers. She adjusts so the heat is further away from her skin. She’s used to it now. It’s almost pleasant. She’s thinking about asking for another one, as soon as this one’s done.

"You know, I didn't wanna say it, ya know, in front of Gus and Curtis..." Waverly tenses She knows exactly what Wynonna wants to say. Wynonna herself, however, looks much less sure. It's hard to tell in the low light, but Waverly thinks Wynonna might be _blushing_.

“But you look fine as _fuck_.”

Now it’s Waverly who’s blushing. She’d heard that many times earlier that night, in many different ways, and still Wynonna saying it seemed to matter. She’s about to say thank you, but Wynonna doesn’t stop. She wrap an arm around Waverly’s waist. She’s on a roll.

“Better be careful,” Wynonna smirks in the second the light switches from blue to orange, “ _jailbait_.”

Wynonna clicks her teeth together. It’s something boys say – to her, about her – and it feels strange for a few seconds until she decides she likes the way it looks on Wynonna’s lips. The hand on her hip feels filled with energy. Waverly doesn’t know what to do with her hands, so she turns, one hand forward, ready to go for Wynonna’s pocket and take another cigarette without asking.

Wynonna sees the turn and thinks something else, and the next second they’re kissing.

Wynonna tastes like...she tastes like...  the words pop into Waverly's mind immediately, all the bad poetry she's ever read, but she refuses to ruminate on them. Wynonna doesn't taste like nicotine. She doesn't taste like whiskey. She doesn't taste like nostalgia or regret or the earth after a thunderstorm or whatever the hell else an angsty eight grader who's never been kissed might claim. _Well_... maybe the nicotine, but Waverly can't taste that because they're both too saturated in it.

Mostly, Waverly tastes her own mouth. Mostly, Waverly feels her heart protesting all of this, threating union action against the rest of her organs. Mostly, Wynonna's hands stay above the waist, caught in the fabric of Waverly's dress and trying to pull on it but it doesn't have enough give.

Mostly.

But one hand starts to go rogue, slipping lower and lower. Waverly feels it down her thigh, Wynonna angling her fingers so her nails scrape at Waverly through the fabric. The touch is light enough that with the numbing effect of the alcohol, Waverly isn't entirely sure it's even happening.

"You know, Waves, there are easier ways to get me to stop smoking."

With the tension between them, the joke falls flat, hard and awfully. Wynonna wishes she hadn’t said anything. Waverly doesn’t know what to do so she kisses Wynonna again, hoping Wynonna will take the lead, will kiss her back, make it as deep and hard and long as Waverly wants, but doesn’t have the courage for, yet.

Wynonna’s back bumps against the light post and she breaks it off, both their mouths wet with each other and Wynonna looks up at the literal spotlight on top of them. There’s no one out this time of night, and anyone with reason to probably wouldn’t be in a position to judge, but they both don’t want all that _light_.

"Car," Wynonna mumbles. Waverly nods and picks up her dress, like it matters anymore if it gets a little dirty. Wynonna's just a step behind her and she almost jumps the hood in her race to get there fast. She turns the engine on and it's loud in the night.

Wynonna only has a half idea where she's going when she pulls away. The checkout boy watches them from behind the counter while they speed off, half interested. He shrugs and goes back to counting the till.

///

Navigating into the backseat is a pain in the ass, not made any easier by Waverly's dress or her drunkenness. Wynonna helps her through, lays her out in the back seat, gets on top of her.

"You done this before?" Wynonna's voice is already low.

"Y- yeah," Waverly says.  She reaches for the hem on Wynonna's t-shirt but Wynonna's taking over, lifting it over her head and tossing it to the side where it falls to the floor of the car.

"Right," Wynonna says with just a slight tinge of disgust to her voice, and it doesn't even scratch the surface at trying to deter Waverly from what she's going to do.

"With Champ."

Waverly hand flies to cover Wynonna's mouth. Changes to a single finger, pressed over her lips, and a soft 'shhh'. Waverly doesn't know what's come over her. She's used to being on her back, passive. She can already tell this won't be like that, in the back seat of Champ's car on or his back, him panting and sweating and on top of her. Wynonna doesn't want her like that. Waverly doesn't want to be like that.

"Don't talk about Champ."

Wynonna nods her understanding, and Waverly keeps her finger there for emphasis. The second before she withdraws it, Wynonna darts her tongue out, licking the tip. The wetness makes it sensitive and Waverly can feel the cold there sharply, like all the night chill is focused into a pinprick on her fingertip. She starts running it down Wynonna's body, and it seems like Wynonna can feel it too because she shivers. It goes lower, lower, down her neck, lower still. When it passes the space between her breasts Wynonna goes to grab her wrist, and pulls Waverly down by it. She meets her halfway and when she kisses her Waverly thinks about the documentary she'd seen, about snakes who eat their own tails.

Wynonna reaches, with her other hand, for Waverly's hair. It, remarkably, stayed in place through all of this, and Waverly can't help but feel proud in her craftsmanship. Even with Wynonna trying to undo it, the fumbling isn’t enough. Wynonna lets out a huff and adjusts the way she’s sitting, turns Waverly’s head by grabbing around her jaw so she can see better in the light. She pulls out the pins and throws them onto the floor of the car, with the lint and the coins and the dust and Waverly knows she’s never getting them back. It comes loose ass at once, unfurling like a twisted beast waking from a long slumber, falling half over her face. Waverly runs a hand back over her forehead, pushes most of it to the side.

Wynonna only manages to hold herself back for a second before she lunges up again, and brings Waverly down with her on the way back. Waverly's moans are high and broken up, out of breathe. Wynonna shifts higher up, and feels the cold glass of the windows pressing against her skull, through her hair.

The hand on Waverly’s hips twitches, and Wynonna pushes. She reverses their positions, so all of a sudden she's on top and Waverly is against the opposite car window. Wynonna ends up with one leg folded under herself, trapped between the backseat and her other leg. She’s starting to remember the downsides to backseat hook ups.

It's a process but soon enough Waverly’s dress is removed enough to allow access. The kissing doesn’t stop once, not until they’re both topless and facing each other, and Wynonna has her hand on Waverly’s stomach. The last chance to backout before they cross the final line. If Waverly askes, Wynonna would help her get her dress back on, put her hair back up. Drive her home and tuck her in and probably not speak to her for a week, until one of them would text the other and pretend it had never happened.

Wynonna waits. Waverly says nothing. She draws a circle with her hand on Waverly’s abdomen, and starts to press down. She’s not even in contact with anything erogenous yet, but Waverly still moans.

Wynonna moves them around so she’s behind Waverly, arm wrapped around her and mouth nipping at the back of her neck.

Wynonna pushes down again, just above her belly button. It's not right, how utterly aroused Waverly feels. It's all the blood behind her face, her breathe turning so hot in her mouth that she has to leave her mouth open just so it can escape. Her panting turns choppy and she hears Wynonna behind her, breathing deeper than she is but obviously affected too.

Waverly has a vision of Wynonna's nails. Her turning, suddenly, and digging them in. Imagines Wynonna digging into her, gutting her like a fruit, red and pink juice dripping where she'd open up and Wynonna licking her fingers clean, one by one by one.

It's so... _erotic_. Waverly hates that word, thinks it's cringy, almost put it on the same level as moist but... it's all she can thing about. Wynonna rubs her hand in a circle and Waverly lets her neck stretch out, fall back. _Eros. God of sexual desire._ Wynonna keep pushing. Waverly doesn't think she's ever been this wet, will ever be this wet again. She feels Wynonna so deeply, like she's touching her organs, like she has nerves along the inside of her liver and Wynonna is hitting all of them.

Waverly whines something close to Wynonna's name followed by something close enough to 'fuck me', and Wynonna dips her hand down further. Waverly still has her underwear on and Wynonna pushes under it, lower, until she hits wetness and warmness and Waverly arches back into her. Waverly's hands go back to try and grab at something, but the angles aren't right, and she instead comes back to dig her nails into her own thighs. Wynonna moves her other hand around to plays with Waverly's nipples, alternating side to side as Waverly's heartbeat gets faster and faster.

"Oh my god, Wyn-" Waverly cuts herself off with a sharp movement.

"That good, baby?" Wynonna asks. it's a stupid question. she knows she is. She curls her fingers up and hits a soft and sensitive part of Waverly that she always has trouble reaching herself. She does it again and again and again and gets as deep in as she can, as fast as she can. When she knows Waverly can take in, she places her thumb over Waverly's clit and circles around it in time to how Waverly's rolling her hips. Waverly gasps and spasms and Wynonna feels it around her fingers.

"I'm.. I'm close," Waverly's voice is high, even for sweet and girly her, and Wynonna knows she's telling the truth.

She keeps going, faster, harder, deeper, and she can tell the exact moment Waverly cums because she goes quiet and tense and tight and a second later breaks and spills and radiates warmth.

Wynonna waits a second to pull her fingers out, careful not to hurt her. She doesn't know if Waverly's one of those girls who can go again and again, but she certainly hopes so. She rubs Waverly's wetness off on the car seat, fuck the cleaning bill, and places kisses to the back of her neck. It takes her shamefully long to realise that the way Waverly's shaking isn't aftershocks, but crying.

“Hey, hey,” Wynonna moves Waverly off her lap, immediately concerned. “What is it, babygirl? What’s wrong?”

Waverly shakes her head no.

“It’s… it’s just….”

Waverly says nothing for a good minute, but Wynonna is patient. When she speaks again, her voice is stronger. Almost angry.

“You know if you left in the morning, Wynonna, that would be really fucked up.”

Wynonna wishes she could act shocked and offended but honestly, she understands where Waverly is coming from. It wouldn’t exactly be out of charcter, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d fled from a one night stand.

Except this isn’t a one night stand. Or she hopes it isn’t. And this isn’t just anyone. And she can’t just run.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Wynonna says. She can’t say what this means, and she can’t say about next month, even next week… but she can say that. She can say that, and she can mean it, and she can drive a sleeping Waverly home with the radio on low, and stop at a red light at an empty intersection, waiting, and throw her almost-full packet of cigarettes out the car window before the light turns to green.

 

**Author's Note:**

> SUP guys here you go, enjoy this out of nowhere earpcest fic. Unedited so expect errors. Love you.


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